


en avant

by lethargicProfessor



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10045763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: It starts as a question, Timothy’s curiosity getting the better of him one night after lessons.





	

It starts as a question, Timothy’s curiosity getting the better of him one night after lessons. Jerry is more than happy to oblige him, answering any and all inquiries with good humor while finishing up his duties in the kitchen.

(Timothy likes talking to the cook, and he’s learned that the longer he stays, the more likely it is Jerry will make him sweets to pass the time chatting.)

When the topic of Timothy’s hair – now a brilliant shade of teal – comes up, Jerry is the one to offer a surprisingly simple solution. Timothy certainly won’t pass up the opportunity, and makes sure to thank the cook as much as he can.

* * *

Allen catches him with a tin of dye in the bathrooms, braced over the sink with his arms stained brown. His hair is streaked with the dye, though there is still far more teal than brown for Timothy’s liking.

Allen hesitates at the door, but doesn’t question it, and Timothy fears for a moment that he’ll call Klaud – or worse, Emilia – when he steps away, but breathes a sigh of relief when Allen returns with a towel in hand.

“May I?” He asks, resting his back against the wall beside the sink, red hand open towards Timothy. Grudgingly, Timothy obliges, letting Allen maneuver his arm around to clean up his mess.  Allen works in silence, glancing up at Tim every so often, waiting for him to say something.

“It’s a bit messy, isn’t it?” Allen asks after some time, a soft smile on his face as he dabs at the spots on his arm. It leaves streaks on Tim’s skin, the color almost matching that of Allen’s normal hand.

Timothy shrugs, shooting the dye a sour look. “I thought it would be easier.”

“It takes practice,” Allen says breezily, dropping the towel in the sink beside the half-empty tin. “Would you like for me to do it for you?”

His tone is almost too formal as he tugs the dye closer, running his fingers through Timothy’s damp hair. Timothy gives him a jerky nod, shivering at the sensation of Allen’s fingers carefully separating strands of teal, combing through the larger clumps of dye that Timothy was unable to break apart.

Allen clicks his tongue softly, eyeing Tim’s choice in dye critically. “Where did you get this?”

“Jerry.” Timothy says defensively, crossing his arms. “He said it worked well…”

Allen nods, rolling his sleeves up before swiping a dollop of dye from the tin. “Makes sense. I’ve only used black dyes myself, but it should be about the same.”

Timothy’s eyes shoot to Allen’s hair, the soft white strands in sharp contrast against Allen’s darker skin. He supposed black hair made sense, but he couldn’t picture the older exorcist with anything but white hair. “You dyed your hair?”

“I used to try.” Allen says, a twist to his mouth Timothy couldn’t identify. “It certainly didn’t do me any good, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Timothy holds his breath as Allen smooths the dye into his hair with his fingers, leaving dark brown streaks amidst the blue. He feels like he is being let in on a big secret, and isn’t sure how to respond. He….admittedly doesn’t know much about Allen, and isn’t sure what to ask.

“What d’ya mean?” He manages, shivering as cold paste drips down to his neck.

Allen mutters something under his breath that could have been a swear, reaching over Timothy’s shoulder for the towel left in the sink. “Sorry ‘bout that, I’m making a bit of a mess myself…”

“Why did you have to dye your hair?” Tim asks, struggling to stay still as Allen twists strands of hair onto the crown of his head.

Allen meets his gaze through the mirror, smiling wryly. “Why are you trying to dye yours?”

Timothy doesn’t have a response to that, and settles for scowling at the mirror. Allen grins, winking, and resumes his work. “Does it bother you?”

It doesn’t feel like the right word, and Timothy chews on his lip as he mulls it over. He thinks of the stares he gets when he and Klaud go out on missions, of the people whispering loud enough for him to hear. He was used to it, before, but his innocence was easier to hide than his hair.

“People stare.” He says at last, shrugging one shoulder as best as he can manage. “It’s annoying.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Allen hums, combing through the mess Timothy left behind. “You get used to it.”

“Did you?” Timothy huffs when a curled strand unravels and drops onto his forehead, but Allen is quick to wipe away the orange streaks left on his forehead. Thankfully his innocence is easy enough to clean.

Smiling sheepishly, Allen resumes his work. “It was harder when I was younger, ignoring the stares. I got my fair share of those, if you could believe it.”

“What did you do?” Timothy asks as Allen nudges his head down, hands moving towards the longer strands with ease.

“After I stopped hiding it, you mean?” Timothy manages a jerky nod, and a clump of dye drops into the sink in front of him. Allen hums. “Well, my father was a clown, see. The stares were always there regardless, but when we were in costume, it was on purpose.”

Tim makes a vague noise of agreement, bracing himself against the sink as Allen twists the last strands of hair high on his head. “And after Master Cross took me in, he taught me how to brush it all off. There were more important things to worry about then, than a few gossips around the city. More important stuff to worry about now, too.”

“They laugh sometimes,” Timothy points out, looking up when Allen steps away. The boy in the mirror stares back, his hair thick with dye, not a trace of blue left in sight. The orb on his forehead glints in the light, but he can hide that again. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Tsukikami, silent but seemingly unimpressed.

“They tend to do that. But you could laugh back.” Allen nods, staring at his hands critically. The dye has cooled some, and is beginning to form clumps on his hands. Shrugging, he rakes his hands through his hair, leaving streaks of reddish-brown across white strands.

Timothy gasps, and Allen shoots him a wink before dipping his fingers back into the tin. “No point in this going to waste, right?”

Cleaning up is an ordeal and a half, and rinsing out the dye turns out to be more of a challenge than actually slathering it on, but Timothy heads to bed with brown hair and a smile on his face.

* * *

The blue in his eyes is familiar, and doesn’t faze him at first, until he catches sight of the orange tint on his arms. Bolting upright, Timothy nearly trips over himself in his attempt to reach the bathrooms, careening towards a mirror with a dread in his chest.

The teal is horrifically bright, more so than it was the night before, and Timothy feels his heart drop to his feet.

Tsukikami only looks mildly uncomfortable, hovering behind him. _“I coulda warned you.”_

“Timothy?” Allen jars Timothy out of his stupor, and he violently scrubs at his face to stem the tears running down his cheeks. “Oh, Tim…”

(He finds some consolation in the fact that Allen’s hair is also back to white, but it doesn’t ease the bitterness at the back of his tongue.)

Timothy starts when Allen wraps his arms around him, running his fingers through Timothy’s blue hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing him tight enough to drive the air from his lungs. Timothy sniffles, and lets Allen ease him out of the bathroom and back to his room.

His tears are mostly dry by the time he drops back on his bed, watching Allen take a seat at his desk. “You knew, didn’t you?”

It’s not an accusation, but the bitter taste lingers. Allen runs a hand through his hair – stark white against his brown cheeks – and shrugs. “I assumed. I had hoped it wouldn’t for you, but…”

“It happened to you before?” Timothy sighs when Allen nods, and lets the disappointment soak into his bones. He wants to go back to sleep, if only to forget it’s all happened. “What happened then?”

“My master laughed at me and said I was an idiot.” Timothy raises his head enough to shoot Allen a look; Allen responds with a wry grin. “He said…’What’s the point? What does it matter what others say about you? It doesn’t affect you, or your promise.’”

His face falls, and his voice gets softer, more pensive as he twirls a pen on Timothy’s desk absently. “Before my father passed away, he told me to never stop. Keep walking, he said.” Allen swallows thickly, clearing his throat before looking up at Tim. “I promised to keep walking, and I have. Whatever anyone says about me doesn’t really matter. Mana was right, and so was Master Cross.”

Timothy feels a lump form in his throat, and frowns as Allen stands. “Just…keep walking, Timothy. Don’t ever stop.”

It feels like Timothy lies in bed for hours after Allen leaves, staring at the ceiling as he processes the situation. He still wishes his hair was brown again, or at least a different shade, but feels better at the thought of facing the world after his talk.

“Keep walking,” he murmurs to himself, and grins at Tsukikami. “We can do that.”


End file.
